


I Knew You Well And Found You Fair

by prairiestar



Category: Martin and Lewis RPF, Real Person Fiction
Genre: 1940s, First Time, First Time Blow Jobs, First Time Hand Jobs, Hotel Sex, M/M, period typical internalized homophobia, rat pack
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-08-22
Updated: 2016-08-22
Packaged: 2018-08-10 08:02:08
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,116
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/7836697
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/prairiestar/pseuds/prairiestar
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Dean entertains the idea of something new between himself and his partner. Then he tests the waters.</p>
            </blockquote>





	I Knew You Well And Found You Fair

There’s something new happening. It’s not a bad thing, it’s just… well, Dean had thought that things were settling into some kind of a pattern. He isn’t used to being this clueless. Frankly, it’s fucking wearing him out.  
  
Atlantic City’s just a memory now, but only just. And it makes his heart flop around in his chest when he really lets it. The images that stick with him are of Jerry- Jerry at the bus station, chin up and eagerly scanning the bus windows looking for him. Jerry in the hotel room, kicking at the leg of the bed frame, embarrassed at how shitty their accommodations are but still not able to stop smiling. At the bar in the 500 Club, sucking down cokes before the show and getting more and more jittery. And then onstage - and this one Dean will never forget until he’s eighty - looking at him with the face of an idiot chimp, eyes sparkling with an intelligence that’s scary, and just loving the moment and everything in it.  
  
Dean is in a cab, headed towards the hotel. Jerry’s probably sleeping by now, with a light on by the door to the suite so that Dean doesn’t stumble on the way in. Or maybe the light’s off, because Jerry assumes Dean won’t be in until morning. He’d made it pretty clear at the club that he and the young lady in the bottle green dress were in it for the whole round and looking to score, and Jerry has gotten good at reading even the subtlest of Dean’s signals. Still, here he is in a taxi, alone. His suit smells like cigarettes in a way that usually makes him feel like he’s accomplished something, but tonight just makes him feel tired.  
  
And that’s not really it, but it’s close enough and it doesn’t bear thinking about any more than he already has. New York is full of red lights tonight, and Dean suspects it’s going to rain before morning.  
  
Christ, he’s making himself half sick. _Oy, these moods you’re having,_ Jerry would say, _for what?  
  
Well kid, maybe you wanna tell me._  
  
The cab stops and Dean gets out, hands the driver some cash and tips more than he should even now, here, after everything that’s happened in the last few months. He stands on the sidewalk for a minute and looks up, counting windows. On the corner of the fifteenth floor, the lights are on.  
  
***  
  
The something new rears its colorfully plumed, exotic head during their morning routine. Morning, of course, being understood as the commonly accepted term for afternoon.  
  
“Dean? You got a razor I could use for maybe three, four minutes here?” He can hear Jerry just fine over the running water, but he waits.  
  
“Dean? Oh, Deee-eean!” Jerry’s at the bathroom door now, and Dean knows he wants to come in but can’t quite make himself just burst through the door. So he waits.  
  
“Deanie darling?” Still, nothing… although it’s getting harder and harder not to grin.  
  
“Deeeeaaan.” From the way his voice reverberates against the door, it sounds like Jerry’s got his face pressed up against it. Dean does the same, pressing his whole face and the front of his body against the door.  
  
“Mmm-yeah?”  
  
“Hey!” Jerry sounds pleased as punch to have finally been acknowledged. “Hey, there’s somebody in here! Get some lights over here men, we got a survivah!” Dean chuckles, and the soft little booms of it vibrate through the wood between them. “Come on Deanie, lemme in ’cos I gotta use your razor and your cream, I left mine in Philly and I’m gonna get all rough and scratchy for the show otherwise.”  
  
Dean opens the door then, and there’s Jerry with a hotel robe and sideways hair from wrestling with a pillow, looking like morning sunshine with a few pretty clouds, and the feeling starts from somewhere deep in Dean’s heart and lungs and rushes into his skull till he feels like he might start to cry. He blinks, then gives Jerry a slow, warm smile.  
  
“You wanna use my razor, huh?” He runs a fingertip down Jerry’s jaw. “I didn’t even know you started shavin’ yet, Orville.”  
  
“Oh sure I did, just last week!” Jerry grabs Dean’s hand and runs it all over his cheeks and under his jaw. “My daddy sat me down and told me- ‘son,’ he said, ‘son yer gonna be a man soon, and you gotta learn two things. You gotta learn to shave, and you gotta learn to make it with a goil!’ So I says ‘pop, let’s start with shaving, I think I’m gonna like _that_!’”  
  
Jerry’s eyes are shining because Dean’s laughing. And Dean’s laughing because Jerry’s fucking _funny_ , and because it makes his eyes shine. And because the new thing has started to feel like the right thing, and like something not so new at all. He’s known about it for a long time, known he wanted it. He just didn’t realize it would ever really happen.  
  
***  
  
He waits until after the show that night to make sure it’s really there. If there’s one thing he can’t stand it’s taking risks when he doesn’t have a sense of the odds, and the act is too important for any kind of fucking around. Except. Well, he’s going to find out, isn’t he?  
  
They’re back in the room, it’s only two o’clock and it’ll be hours before either of them are ready to sleep. Dean hasn’t felt doubt like this since the sixth grade, and it sickens and thrills him.  
  
“Say, Jer?” He calls from the bed where he’s found a place to sit and stretch out. “You wanna mix me something while you’re up?”  
  
Jerry’s doing drum beats, jazz percussion over at the bar. “I don’t understand why room service cuts out at one for everybody. If you’re famous you’re fucking famous, right? We don’t stop being famous at one, so how come I can’t get a milkshake once the kitchen closes? Like a kid can’t run two blocks for five bucks and buy a vanilla milkshake?” He shakes his head in what almost looks like actual frustration, and then he laughs. “I can make you ice with watah, watah with ice or a rum and coke, Mistah Merton.” Dean smiles fondly and unbuttons his shirt, takes it off and tosses it gently on the other bed. His loses the t-shirt underneath before Jerry starts speaking again. “Dean, you know I ain’t got any practical knowledge of cocktails besides what-” Jerry looks up, and then back down. “-What. Everybody orders when they. Oh. Are you going to bed?”  
  
It’s such a blessed relief to really, truly know, Dean wants to let out a whoop of release. Something must show in his face, because Jerry gives him a look of concern, then smirks a little. And then goes blank, because he realizes he’s been found out and probably, no, definitely, thinks it’s a bad thing.  
  
“I’m gonna take a shower,” he explains, looking at the wall, “and maybe drown my fucking self. How’s that sound? Unless I slit my wrists with the soap. Hmm.”  
  
“Hey,” says Dean, “hey, hey.” He’s up and over to Jerry like that, quick, and doesn’t let him turn away or make another joke until they’re looking at each other, eye to eye.  
  
“You got something bothering you?” Dean puts a hand on his shoulder. “Because I ain’t bothered.”  
  
“No no, I’m as happy as you’ll ever come by.” Jerry’s thinking about getting angry, it’s in his voice. “That’s the god’s honest truth. Can’t you tell?”  
  
“Yeah, I know.”  
  
“Then fuck off, you fucking guinea.” And now Jerry’s back to smiling, with that little bit of anger still there.  
  
“I don’t wanna,” Dean murmurs, and leans in. And it’s shocking, fucking hilarious, because Jerry actually jerks his head back and for a second Dean imagines life, his whole life from now until the end, without the act and without Jerry because he made the wrong decision and wrecked it all to hell.  
  
And then Jerry’s arms are wrapped around him in the tightest hug he’s ever felt. If it weren’t for the vice grip, he’d think Jerry had stopped breathing. It’s not a full minute, but it feels like that plus ten more.  
  
“Don’t joke around.” Jerry says it into his shoulder.  
  
“I’m not joking, you monkey.” Jerry’s body loosens a bit, but it seems like he’s still paralyzed so Dean pries himself out of the hug and holds Jerry at arm’s length. Jerry lets himself be propped up, smiling wistfully and looking down.  
  
“You should be, this is pretty ridiculous.”  
  
Dean can’t argue with that, so instead he does what he’s been wanting to do for a while now and pulls Jerry to him for a kiss. There’s a second of stiffness and dry lips, but that’s all it takes before Jerry’s wrapped around him again and breathing hard through his nose against Dean’s skin. He presses his face against Dean’s and kisses the hollows of his cheeks, his cheekbones, his temples and his ears. It’s adoration, pure and simple, and Dean’s cock swells so quickly just at the idea of all the ardent attention that he steps back half an inch out of embarrassment. “Quit kickin’ me, Charlie!” Jerry whispers in his ear like there’s somebody else around, and steps back into their clinch so Dean can feel how hard he is. “I’ll knock you over so fast…”  
  
“C’mere,” is all Dean has to say, and they’re dancing over to the bed. There’s a moment of confusion when he sits down, holding Jerry in place to keep him standing while he unbuckles Jerry's belt for him and opens his fly. He can tell the minute Jerry catches on because his breathing goes funnier than before, and he makes a quiet, sliding gasp of a noise that actually makes tears well up in Dean’s eyes from excitement. He slides Jerry’s shorts down off his hips, and gets a sweet little wave of dizziness from the sight and the smell of it all. _Goddamn it_ , he thinks, _I fucking love sex,_ and then he chuckles once in delight over everything before bringing his face to Jerry’s stomach and kissing him there where his skin is hot and salty with sweat.  
  
“Oh for fuck’s sake,” says Jerry softly, like he’s choking on the words. Dean tilts his head to the side and inhales, and licks at Jerry’s cock while the butterflies do somersaults and his whole body thrums with thick electric shocks. Jerry’s hands land briefly on his shoulders, then fly to his face and land gently there, just brushing, while his hips stutter and rock and he hums and moans and says Dean’s name.  
  
Dean doesn’t want to take it too far, but he also doesn’t mind how things have gone up to this point. He holds Jerry’s balls in one hand and takes his cock in the other, and lets his mouth get wet while he sucks a little on the tip. “You-” Jerry says, squeezing his shoulder, and then Dean’s pulling back and spitting quietly on the floor as Jerry comes into both their hands.  
  
In the end he’s got Jerry’s come on his chest, and Jerry takes his shirt off to help clean up the mess. There’s no joke, and it’s a little odd for them to be this quiet. Things aren’t finished, but Jerry isn’t going to do anything about it except look flushed and stunned and increasingly smug, so Dean takes off his pants and shows him what to do.  
  
“Don’t tell me you never did this before.”  
  
“I’m human.”  
  
“You’re a fucking angel. Christ.”  
  
Jerry’s concentrating, one hand on Dean’s cock and the other dug into the bedspread for leverage. Dean finds that hand and grabs it, holding on and rubbing at Jerry’s wrist, finally laying back on the bed and letting Jerry climb up next to him so they can tangle together and neck a little til he’s almost there. Then he shoots, and Jerry laughs and rolls away, and he breathes and lets the blood flow back into his brain and everywhere else.  
  
They lay there on the bed for a while, and then Jerry sighs dreamily. “Spring wedding.”  
  
“Autumn.”  
  
“The baby’ll be here by then.”  
  
“He’s invited.”  
  
Jerry sniffs a little laughter at that, and shifts on the mattress. “I got a crick in my neck.” He gets up, slowly, and walks to the bathroom. “And I’m in love with you, if anybody asks.”  
  
The door shuts. Dean thinks about that one for a minute, and then goes to make himself a drink.

**Author's Note:**

> Title is from the song "Love, Your Spell is Everywhere."


End file.
